


But This is Where We Shine

by queenklu



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their last Christmas on the show, and Jensen is going to miss...Canada. Totally Canada. And in conclusion: Canada. Jared, meanwhile, has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But This is Where We Shine

 

____spacer____

Jensen stumbled out of bed and felt every skin cell on his body instantly seize with cold. “Jesusfuckingchristjesusfuckingchrist,” ran in a constant loop under his breath as he dragged on jeans, and then sweatpants over the jeans, then a sweater and a hoodie and at least one more zip up thing that had to be Jared’s because the sleeves almost covered the frozen tips of his fingers.

The buzzer buzzed again. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jensen yelled at it, mostly to get his lungs warmed up (if that even worked). He hopped into the living room while yanking on his socks and all but fell against the damn thing, shock of hitting a solid object turning his casual inquiry into a bark of annoyance. “ _What_?”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, asshole,” Jared’s voice laughed up the line. “C’mon, man, let me up.”

Jensen grumbled something vaguely apologetic and hit the button that would let Jared inside his apartment building, jogging in place before he realized he could huddle for warmth under an honest to god duvet. He grit his teeth and stayed where he was—he needed to get awake or acclimated or…not be in bed when Jared came up. Whatever.

It was hiatus. It was beautiful fucking hiatus and a balmy 75 degrees in Texas and negative forty in Vancouver and basically? Every airport within driving distance was snowed in. Had been snowed in for a week and a half now. And the airports not within driving distance were that way because most of the highways were closed due to black ice. Their agents kept feeding them lines about how they were going to get them out (like he and Jared were in a concentration camp or something) but this was their holiday time, too, and Jared basically said fuck it three days ago. And like hell was Jensen going to be the asshole who tried to leave his best friend here alone for the holidays, so it was fuck it mark II.

Even though he could still be the asshole who refused to move back in with Jared, even for over Christmas. He could be the asshole who made Jared walk all the way to his apartment because Jared didn’t want to risk his truck on the roads and Jensen’s was in the shop.

Fuck.

Jensen threw some coffee on just as Jared’s fist thumped against the door, and the skittering noises meant he’d brought the kids. Jensen’s internal organs thawed a little at that—he hadn’t realized how much he’d miss the dumb mutts when it’d looked like this thing with Danneel was going somewhere, and then when it hadn’t— Jensen cut that train of thought off fast and opened the door.

“Hey!” Jared’s cheeks were blotchy pink with cold and Jensen’s brain shut up entirely. Sadie and Harley rubbed their damp coats excitedly against his legs while Jared’s stayed remarkably dry thanks to the Carhartt bib overalls he was wearing.

 _…Carhartt bib overalls_.

Jensen swallowed something like a snort even though he didn’t feel like laughing, and forced his eyes back to Jared’s face, belatedly realizing that he had probably said something besides ‘hey’ by now. “Uh, what?”

Jared just grinned even bigger, hooking his thumbs under the straps to show just how far away they stretched from his flat, flannel-covered chest. “Nice, huh?”

“You’re a lumberjack and you’re okay,” Jensen half-sang, or at least spoke on tune, and Jared’s face was really going to break or something if he kept smiling that hard.

“Yes, good,” Jared said, then rubbed his big gloved hands down Jensen’s arms where they were folded tightly across his chest to conserve heat. “Keep talking, it’ll warm you up.”

Would it really? Jensen had been pretty sure he’d been lying to himself before.

“Oh and I bought you a pair too,” Jared sighed, “so you wouldn’t feel left out,” and any traces of an answering happy glow or smile previously present on Jensen’s face fell off.

“You did not.”

“I did too.” Jensen hadn’t even _seen_ the bag Jared must’ve dropped by his feet after coming in, but now Jared was fishing a matching pair of Carhartts from it and attempting to size them against Jensen’s chest.

“Ohhh no. No. Jared—“

“You big _baby_ ,” he chastised, cornering Jensen against the wall—Jensen’s stomach swooped and then didn’t come back. God damn he did not usually freak out getting backed against things, but with Jared’s extra padding with all his winter gear it was like getting treed by a _bear._ “Look at you,” Jared went on, not completely oblivious, just ignoring Jensen’s panic because of _course_ he wasn’t going to hurt him, the idea was stupid, “You’ve got ten good layers on you, Richardson, and you’re still shivering like a calf dropped at sunset.”

“A— _what?”_ Jensen honestly wasn’t sure if his voice hit that high note because of Jared suddenly turning into Alan Jackson or because Jared dropped to his knees right after he said it.

“Did you know I have a channel that only plays classic Westerns? I didn’t even know I have a channel that only plays classic Westerns. Leg up,” Jared said, knuckles tapping Jensen’s knee and he just…obeyed, maybe a literal knee-jerk reaction, and then Jared was dragging the Carhartts up to his thigh.

“Okay, yes,” Jensen snapped, grabbing the clothing from Jared and shuffle-hopping down the wall. “I think I know how to put on pants.”

Jared’s eyebrows quirked with his mouth, but he got back on his feet. “I’m sure there’s a dick joke in there somewhere, let me think about it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hurt yourself.” Jensen kept one eye on his best friend while he finished with the straps—Jared’s fingers twitched like he wanted to help, but his expression was impassive—and the other eye on Harley and Sadie running around his apartment sniffing all the new and interesting things. They hadn’t been up here before, though it’d been months since he moved in. There was a lot of stuff to sniff.

“Okay,” Jensen announced, holding his arms out so Jared could get a good look at his present, and felt something funny in the back of his throat like the beginnings of a cold. Perfect. “It fits.”

“Better?” Jared asked, daring Jensen to say different. Hell, even he could tell he’d stopped shivering.

It didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

“Good.” Suddenly Jared was at his front closet, hauling out one of Jensen’s puffy filming-in-Canada coats, a pair of mittens Jensen never wore because they made him feel all of three years old—hey, much like the overalls—and red knit hat with one of those yarn balls on top that was bigger than his fist that he did not remember buying. Ever.

“Wait a sec,” Jensen stammered as Jared came at him next, and had to snatch the clothing from Jared’s hands and put it on defensively before Jared started doing it for him again. “We going somewhere?”

“Nah, just getting bundled up for the fun of it.” Jared nodded with a smile that said _and if you believe that…_ , then whistled for his babies. Sadie wandered over first, trailing her leash within easy reach.

“But—“ He really wanted to point out that Jared’s cheeks were still pink, but stopped himself to rephrase. “We could warm up in here first?”

There was a look on Jared’s face he couldn’t place until he realized that his question hadn’t been, _Where?_ or _Why?_ Those had never really mattered with Jared, where or why.

But it was still a smile on Jared’s face, even though it was a weird one. Then his head tilted, one of the (much smaller) yarn balls on his own hat skittering across the front of his coat. “Well, ah, honestly didn’t expect to get this far. Thought for sure I’d have to leave the kids in the lobby and run grab you. But if you want to stay here…”

“No, I—No, we can—”

“I’ve just got a quick errand,” Jared said, something a little off in his voice, like it was too loud or too even, and Jensen had a much stronger knee-jerk reaction to fixing things in Jared’s tone. Which had made moving out even more of a bitch, but it had to be done. This was their last year together—Jensen had to start getting used to leaving Jared be.

“No,” he said, more firmly this time, “I’ll go with. I mean, we’ll go to your place. Mine is obviously lacking in John Wayne.”

Jared’s dimples looked almost unreal when he said, “You should work on that,” and pressed Sadie’s leash into Jensen’s still-bare hand before hustling to drag Harley away from the kitchen trash can.

~*~

Even though Jensen was bracing for it, the cold hit him in the back of his throat like he’d been caught in the face with a snowball, short whine of discomfort slipping out before he could swallow it like a man. Sadie nudged him in sympathy, which was more than he got from Jared.

“You complete and utter wuss.”

Part of him—a huge part—wanted to call Jared on it and tell him to back off, they weren’t all massive furnaces who easily acclimated to harsh weather conditions, but mostly, mostly Jensen couldn’t because he was going to miss this. He was really going to miss—Canada.

So instead he grumbled something about his vocal chords freezing and yanked on his stupid mittens— _mittens_ , for Christ’s sake, previously stuffed in the pocket of his _overalls_ —and let himself knock into Jared at the first tug from Sadie as they headed down the frozen road.

“I can’t believe we’ve never spent a Christmas together,” Jared said, like that little bump shoved it out of him.

Jensen turned, but Sadie wouldn’t let him stop. The air was cold enough against his eyes he knew he’d widened them, knew his expression said _You can’t?_ even when his mouth wouldn’t let him. Jared’s smile was almost indecipherable, and the pieces that were Jensen didn’t want to see. _You can’t even though we—even though we’re always—_

“Yeah,” his traitorous mouth mumbled instead, and twisted in something like a smile.

“Glad we get to now, though,” Jared announced on an exhale, leash-hand swinging idly at his side as he stepped it up to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Jensen. “We’ll do the whole fucking works, too. I mean, I can’t cook for shit but I can follow a recipe like nobody’s business, and I got a full-proof one and a 20lb turkey thawing in the sink, a tub of cookie dough from…one of those school fundraising things? Yeah, apparently I’m helping plant trees in Nigeria. Plus I snagged us some classics on the way over—think I got three kinds of Christmas Carol, complete with muppets, which is seriously, _the best_ hands down—and I’m dragging you to pick out a tree with me tomorrow, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Pick out a tree, pick out china patterns… Jensen felt a little sick. “Jared—“

“I have a list,” Jared said and stopped dead in his tracks, hauling Harley back by his lead. Jensen almost tripped over his own feet because he couldn’t take his eyes off Jared’s, off the fierce determination and resolve that said things were going to go his way even if he had to drag Jensen the whole way hogtied. “We’re doing Christmas right.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen said easily enough, he thought, for the way his heart was pounding. He even managed a _so are we going?_ look down the sidewalk. “Can we do it before we freeze, please?”

Jared just gave him a look, like he’d been the one holding them up, then resumed his leisurely amble through a good six inches of snow that wasn’t even wet enough for packing. So he couldn’t even shove a snowball down the back of Jared’s coat. Not like he was dumb enough to provoke Jared like that in whatever mood he was in today, but Jensen liked to have his options open.

God fuck Canada. Not even warm enough to be the right kind of snow, cold burning his eyelids and nostrils and ears as he hustled to catch up to Jared before he disappeared in to the falling flakes.

He nudged Jared when he reached him, bumped elbows and smiled when it got him Jared’s attention. “I’m glad we get this,” he said, because Jared seemed to need him to say something, and it was true. Truer if he didn’t have to define what ‘this’ was.

Jared’s eyes looked blue against the brown and white of every building when he answered Jensen’s smile.

They were still crunching through the suburbs after ten minutes of silence—scattered with Jared’s teasing glances out of the corner of his eye and half smiles at the ridiculousness of…well, ridiculousness in general, feeling like a kid again with their mittens and yarn hats, and Jensen knew Jared’s looks were meant to make him laugh just as much as everything else. He also knew it was starting to work.

Then—“Here.”—and Jared was veering, took a sudden right turn and brought them up short on the front steps of a house Jensen had never seen before. A bright red door with frost creeping up the bottom, and a metal mail drop box labeled, “The Fraser-Kowalskis,” and a pink tricycle half-buried under a snow bank next to a Tonka Truck.

“You know these guys?” Jensen asked, frowning as he searched his memory for the last name among the section of his head labeled ‘work’ and came up empty.

“Not a clue,” Jared said, and rang the bell.

“Ri—Wait, what?”

Jared was fumbling in his back pocket for something, one glove held in his teeth as he yanked out whatever he was looking for and shoved it into Jensen’s hands just as the door creaked open to reveal a tall, dark haired man in a flannel shirt with a toddler on his hip and little boy wrapped around his knees. The children blinked in the bright light; the man smiled, friendly and polite, and said, “May I help you gentlemen?”

And Jared? Jared launched into song.

Anyone who had ever watched Supernatural could tell you Jared Padalecki is a talented, good looking, well liked, _decent_ human being. They can also tell you that he can’t carry a tune in a bucket with the lid duct taped shut.

Jensen joined in through sheer defense, trying to protect this poor man and his children from being subjected to—Silent Night?—though you’d hardly know it with the way Jared was singing, and Jensen belatedly realized his mittened hands were clutching an honest to god _song book._

“ _…all is calm, all is bright…”_ he sang, feeling neither calm nor bright, staring at the words under the lined musical notes like they held the answers to the universe, and he still fumbled the line, “ _Round yon virgin, mother and child…”_ because—shouldn’t there be something about a table…?

Oh.

They finished after one verse—Jensen was going to _kill him_ if Jared didn’t stop at one verse—and Mr. Fraser-Kowalski smiled at them good-naturedly and a little confused and asked if they represented some organization he could donate to.

“Oh no,” Jared assured him, and at least the fucker had the decency to blush, “Just—getting in the holiday spirit. Merry Christmas.” He added the last bit with an overly genteel nod to both children, who either hid their face or cooed, burbling, and reached for Jared’s dimples.

“Ah, a Merry Christmas to you as well,” Mr. Fraser-Kowalski said, and actually clicked his heels together. As they—and by ‘they’ Jensen meant ‘Jared’—waved and smiled and (this is the part Jensen was in on) _left_ , Jensen could have sworn he heard the man say to the little girl in his arms, “I suspect it’s rather a good thing your father wasn’t here for this, don’t you?”

Jared tripped a little bit, which made Jensen’s gaze snap to him, to the pink earlobe under his hat which was the only uncovered part of Jared he could see at this moment. Mr. & Mr. Fraser-Kowalski. Whom Jensen had just sung to. Nae, caroled. He, Jensen Ackles, had just caroled the Fraser-Kowalskis.

“Don’t—“ Jared just had time to bleat before Jensen was on him, childish mitten gripping a fist full of fucking snow, thanks so much, as he worked the ice as hard as he could against Jared’s neck for the brief seconds he could cling to his shoulders.

“What’s the matter?” he snarled, “Can’t take a little snow, San Antone?”

Jared bent double trying to get enough of Jensen’s weight on him to flip him, making these high distressed noises as Jensen ruthlessly beat at him with the hefty song book. Which took Jensen a moment to realize were less cries of despair and more sounds of strangled laughter. “I’m not gonna wrestle you!”

 

“This isn’t wrestling,” Jensen hollered, outraged, and launched himself on top of Jared’s back in an attempt to bring him to the ground, “This is warfare. _Caroling warfare._ What the—“

Leave it to fate (or Padaleckis, jury’s still out), he’d just gotten to the point when Jared got him in the solar plexus and sent him sprawling against a massive spruce trunk, which shook and then _dumped_ ice crystals down around his ears, under his collar. Jensen went still the way only people with snow melting down their back can, trying not to move, trying not to encourage it.

Jared looked guilty for the first time today, mouth open and the hand he’d pulled the glove off of held over it in an attempt to hide the fact that he was still grinning. “Oh man. Oh man, I am sorry, Jensen. You didn’t get hardly _any_ down my back.”

“Way to kick a guy,” Jensen grit out through his teeth, fighting back the shivers threatening to wrack his body and make this worse. He’d just have to get it over with, bend over fast and brush as much of it off as he could, suffer through the rest. And he was just about to go with that plan when Jared stepped up close, toes of their bunny boots touching in the ankle-deep snow, Jared’s fingers—Jared’s pink, bare, snow-damp fingers—slid under his collar between his skin and the slush, pushing it up and off onto his shoulders.

Jensen’s breath puffed out white clouds between them, shallower than he desperately wanted it to be. It was—it was _impossible_ not to watch the air turn frosty against Jared’s mouth as he worked, hands thorough, methodical, until there was really no reason for them to be on Jensen’s throat anymore. Jensen’s insides felt like they were tying into knots, and Jared’s thumb was under his jaw, and he just _couldn’t_ —couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do this to Canada, couldn’t fuck Canada over, could _leave_ _Canada_ at the end of the year and never see him again, never see him every single day. He needed Canada to still like him when their time was up. Or he’d never get to come back.

And okay, maybe it wasn’t really Canada he didn’t want to leave, but he was an adult, god damn it, and a professional and he couldn’t let himself think ‘leave Jared’ because what kind of professional adult did that make him? A sad, pathetic, needy one.

But Jared wasn’t in his head hearing all this—this bullshit, frankly, even Jensen knew it was bullshit—and so one second Jensen had his eyes closed to gather himself a fucking backbone, and the other second Jensen had his eyes _wide open_ because Jared Padalecki was kissing him.

 _His lips are cold_ , Jensen thought somewhere in the tailspin of sensory and emotional overload, and before he could stop himself his mouth went seeking the heat he knew as there.

“ _No_.” Jensen jerked back, head thumping against the tree again, which sent a much smaller shower of powder into the air around them, dusting Jared’s hair with white. Oh god. He squeezed his yes shut, trying to breathe. “Half a year. Half a year, Jared. This has never been a good idea but _now—“_

“Jensen,” Jared said, like it hurt him, and he dropped his head to rest it against Jensen’s, his bangs like a curtain around Jensen’s temples, too close to focus. His breath kept fanning across Jensen’s cheeks, soft puffs of warmth. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while, right? Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“No,” Jensen whispered, and only noticed when Jared tensed that he had his fingers buried in Jared’s hair at the base of his neck. “Not crazy,” he amended quickly, and Jared took a moment but he nodded.

“Just—give us that half a year? Half a year, and then, if it’s still going as afuckingmazing as I think it will, I will _follow you_. I’ll go anywhere, Jensen, Bosnia if I have to. _Way up high,”_ he started to warble, hoarse and awful but heartfelt, Jared had never been anything but heartfelt, “ _or down low, I’ll go wherever you will—“_

Jensen covered his mouth with his mitten, heat of Jared’s breath sliding through the yarn making his fingers tingle and ache with wanting to touch Jared skin-on-skin.

He could stop this. He could say, _Jared I’m not—_ and Jared would back off, even though they both know that’s not true. He could say, _No, no fucking way, not my career;_ he could say, _Like you more as a friend; Just too complicated; There’s somebody else,_ and Jared would say, _Okay okay okay_ until he was blue in the face, smile and hold his hands up and say, _Well it was worth a shot,_ and Jensen would never get to see Canada again. He’d get to visit the borders and peer at the landscape behind the Mounties, but there was no way they’d accept his visa.

Or. He could start this.

Jensen used his cold-stiff fingers already in Jared’s hair to haul him down, let his lips go to fucking town against Jared’s looking for the scorching heat of his mouth, swallowed a cry of _wantwantwant_ when Jared’s tongue licked into him, turned the sound into a hum of pure pleasure and _yes finally_ and—he _hurt_ , he ached, he burned from wanting so long, and finally _having_. Jesus _Christ._

“You’re humming the Messiah,” Jared whispered, sounding breathlessly happy when he got enough leverage to pull away.

“I am fucking not,” Jensen growled, grabbed him by the straps of his Carhartts, and pulled him back where he belonged.

 

 

~*~Merry Christmas bbs!~*~


End file.
